Miss Taken

Part 1 of 6 | The Party

My husband’s past was my husband’s past, and there was no changing that when we married. It would have been foolish of me to think I could, and I was absolutely smitten with him almost from the beginning, so what was past was past, and I loved him for who he was regardless. When he first mentioned some of the things he’d done, some of the things he still did while we dated, I’d always been just a little curious, sometimes a little weirded out. His stories made me feel like I’d always been a little too sheltered, like there was an adventure in my life I’d missed out on. We’d traveled a bit together, qualified scuba, jumped out of planes a few times and even learned how to swing dance, but none of it compared to the hints Michael dropped now and then about the S&M parties he used to go to.

“Our lives are different now,” he’d always say. “That was then,” and all that jazz, and I’d been fine with that. We’d gone on with our lives, building careers, buying a house, looking for fun vacation destinations. Normal life stuff. A mortgage, a dog, and a 401k. It’s what people did, and it was fine. Until it wasn’t. Until he got a call from an old friend, and we were invited to that party.

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I knelt on the leather settee as instructed and stared at myself in the mirror. What I saw - who I saw. I didn’t recognize her. I did, but…but how was I here? A wrong turn down the hallway. The look from him, a gesture, and I followed. Just like that. I followed. Down the steps, the air growing cooler as we descended into the basement to a simple door with a lock.

He moved behind me, and I blinked, suddenly distracted, pulled away from the image I was seeing of myself. I was sure it was me, and yet…

I trembled when he leaned in, his black silk shirt soft against my naked back. I could feel his cock through his pants, his breath on my neck. I opened my mouth, words I needed to say, questions, something, but before a single syllable passed my lips, he touched his fingers to his, his voice soft, gentle, yet commanding. “Shhh, now. Not a word from you. We’re well past words now, and they won’t serve you here. You’ll learn.” His fingers slipped to my own lips, my mouth still open but empty. Whatever I was going to say was swallowed up by his fingers, probing, gentle, soft, exploring.

I sucked them in, but he stopped me on the spot. “No. Open.” I found his eyes in the mirror, cool and calm, burning into me. Eyes I didn’t know. Eyes I’d never seen before. “Open,” he said, and I watched my mouth open, the smile creeping across his gentle face. “Good girl,” he said. “A little wider. Wider. Yes, just like that.”

I watched it happen like it was someone else. Someone I didn’t know. A young woman, naked and kneeling on a black leather bench, a stranger hovering over her, his fingers probing her open mouth while she trembled under his gaze. Her breasts heaved, nipples hard and begging for attention. And there between her legs, her perfectly smooth pussy was glistening.

Author Note: This story began based on the prompt that resulted in the tale Plot Twist, which you’ve likely already read and/or listened to. It’s funny. The prompt was about mistaken identity, and it was supposed to be a one-off, just a quick story about mistaken identity with an erotica theme. But what happened was that — as many of my stories tend to do — it went off on its own, following its own path. And so, as I always do, I just followed the path to see where it led.

Now, I’m going to say that this story IMHO is super hot. It’s not because of the sex — there’s actually no one having sex in this story. But, well, you’ll see.

Will I do audios for this? Would you like audios? Did you like the audios for Plot Twist?